Pieces of Me

For instance, I want nothing more than a million little things with you in this very moment. I want to cry on your lap. I want to hear you sing. I want to throw popcorn in your face. I want my hair stroked by your hands. I want to slowly undress you. I want to swirl the hair on your forearms. I want to run really fast through Washington Square Park in a race. I want to take you to my favorite lil romantic wine bar. I want sleep for 12 and 1/2 hours waking up periodically to your elbow in my chin. I want you to complain about my hogging the covers. I want to push you to be more; to be better. I want you to challenge my intellect and my vocabulary. I want to know what Florida looks like with you. I want you to see beauty in the ugly of Iowa. I want to go shopping for you, with you, because of you. I want to fight at the jukebox. I want to hate Bjork...but I don't. You want to hate Kelly...but you won't. I want to gossip with you and judge all the boys that pass us by. I want your hand to fall effortlessly onto my thigh. I want my body to quiver when it does. I want to laugh, I want to kiss, I want to cry, I want to hold...even just your hand.

I will not be here waiting.
I will just be here.

I will not take these things for granted. I will only cherish and learn from all this that is bad and that is good.

Someday maybe...Someday maybe not.

Either way, in time it will bloom and grow and close up and start over again.
I will be here...if you will be. I will be here....Please be careful with me.

Breathe out the old...in the new...

At first I was afraid. I was petrified.

I ran to the nearest mirror. I inspected my nose hairs for any extra long strays. I tugged at a few of the bed head strands of my styled-to-look-messy hair. I made sure my shirt was tucked in to reveal my "new" ass. I gargled with my organic mouthwash. I shined my boots. I may have even dropped down and squeezed out twenty push-ups (like when we used to date) to give myself a freshly pumped look.

I came up the stairs to find that I was not afraid. My heart was not aching with every heartbeat as it had so many times before. My hear wasn't even racing. I was angry but confident. You were somewhere you shouldn't be. You were doing all the things you shouldn't do. But, poor you, you just can't stop. I was confident but angry. One could say I was maybe confidently angry. I may have been angrily confident. I am not sure how the combination of the two end up rationing themselves over my emotions. But, I was both. I was grace and power. I was tranquil and in motion. I danced around you with reckless abandon but with total control over my surroundings. I looked you in the eye and saw right through you. You are hallow. I wanted your heart to beat. I wanted your pulse to rise. You were in MY house...UNWELCOME.

But I remained a gracious host. A professional manager. My normal, flirty, happy-go-lucky, playful self.

I believe I breathed my very last high strung breath with regards to you. It was a tight breath but after I let it out, the amount of new, clean, fresh air that I let in carried me to new heights. Higher than you. Bigger than you. And yes, I will say it, BETTER than you.

I am so strong...right now!

Enough is Enough

He did not cancel. He texted when he was running late. He brought STELLA because he knows already. He brought popcorn...because he read my myspace profile. It was the old fashioned kind and he taught me to pop it in a pot with some oil and shake it over the stove. He brought his favorite seasonings, butter, salt, pepper, raisins and nuts. It was fun. My batch turned out better than his. He matched me drink for drink. We watched Project Runway. We watched will and grace. He drank what i was drinking. (we had one bottle of white and one bottle of red) He told me he was jealous of the coziness of my apartment. He laughed a lot. He made me laugh. He told me about his life. He held my hand....a lot. He kissed me a lot. He finally let me touch his belly even though he is insecure about it. He threw me on the couch and tore my clothes off and then respected my wishes to move slowly. He made penis jokes that weren't too corny. He then stayed another hour longer than he said he would. He complimented my looks. He praised our first date. He asked for another date. He left at 1:50am....It was well worth the over 4 month wait. Well worth it. Even though it never happened again.

Because...

It still was not enough for him.

Seasons Change

It took a lot for me to say what I did. I am not certain it's all the god's honest truth, but in that moment it was what I was feeling, thinking and foreseeing in our possible futures. I guess the reason I blurted it out could be blamed on the hour of the night, or the amount of alcohol I consumed. But, the burning desire to tell you came from a longing to hear you, see you, touch you and a fear of losing you. I couldn't watch someone come in and sweep you away from me. Not only as a jealous "possible" love interest but as your friend. A good friend. I know you so well. He will come in a sweep you away from this life. From this life of shared sodas and music critiques. From this life of twisted arms to venture to the next watering hole or stay even though we are drenched. Do you or anyone else for that matter realize that we abandon so many people for one other person. I know friends til the end, and friendships prevail. But, how can you move forward or on with this new person if I am not a part of it too...at least in some way?

I wished I could sweep all my control issues under the rug and let it all unfold in fate's hands. But, this is who I am. Control. Direction. Constantly in tune. You must know this by now. I wished I didn't care about your choices in life and your future. I wished I did not always think I was right about them. I don't know what's right for you, but for some reason I often think I do. I see things in you that I am not certain you see in yourself. Hence the contrived and manipulative demeanor your sometimes choose to wear. Or, the innocent, confused traditionalist you convince yourself to be.

It's harder now for me to be brushed by your arm. To pretend I never let the words escape. I don't take any of it back. I don't know if any of it is real. I must say, for those tearful, impassioned hours I had some odd sense of hopefulness and self pride. But, now it's harder to look you in the eye. Now, I wonder what it will be like, look like, feel like a year from now.

We will all still be here when this is over. But, don't forget we are here now. We are here to share a soda and have our arms twisted.

Did you get my text?

One should think that over time and experience you would get better at the waiting game that comes with the dating game.

I suck.

In an age of instant gratificatoin and constant communication, we are so used to rapid response. But, I hereby declare never to text again. Let me be more specific. I will, from this point forward, no longer communicate with a boy I am interested in via text until it is undoubtedly clear that feelings are mutual, affections reciprocated, and committement is the goal.

I say that today...then he will text me tomorrow or Sunday and I will crush all that I claim to stand for, out of sheer relief to hear from him, and widdle my thumb and pointer on my keypad in an immediate response.

OY! Men!

Please Sir, I want some more....

I wring my hands. I pace back and forth. One minute I am giddy, the next I am nervous. It's all I can think about. It charges me enough to busy myself at work, but occupies my mind enough to keep me glued to my sofa when at home. I am so out of practice and out of shape that one fleeting romantic moment, one silly touch of my thigh or hand, one open mouthed kiss sends me into a prancing, dancing, tight-rope walking, dizzy, sissy, paranoid fit.

It was only a kiss.

But, he was so cute. And it was soooooo good.

No Sense....

I don't speak. I don't want to hear.
I knew that a storm was brewing. But, I closed my shudders and windows to remain blind to it.
All I wanted was to know I was safe. Safe in your arms. Safe from danger.
The dangerous push and shove of the crowded world of normal boys.
Normal.
Feeling Love is Normal. Hiding it is not.
"All the uncertainty, the insanity, of super fluidity" My friend reminds me.

Are you ashamed?

My foolish hopes. My hopelessly fooled heart. Tears fall on pillows where stray hairs cling.
Are you liable? My vulnerability taken advantage of...
Do they know? Do I really know? Will you ever know....exactly...ever?

The taste in my mouth is of dirty metal or tin or copper. It lingers with a stiff bitterness.
What do you taste? Was it worth the licks and ticks?

I push you away bitterly.
You curse my name.
Apologies fall on deaf ears.
All I can do is keep breathing.
The song remembers when.

Lounging by the pool....

You aren't supposed to be here if you are here right now. So don't continue from this point on. The water may be too shallow. Diving is allowed but at your own risk.

Seriously, you said you would stay away. We both agree that the water is too cold. The waves that grow when there is more than one can crash. Dangerously.
I said I didn't want to alter my thoughts or my writing just because I knew you visited.

But, that's just it. Since you have visited me, my thoughts have altered. My writing has changed. My demeanor has adjusted. People are complimenting me right and left. "You look great Clem!" "What's going on with you?" "What's the secret-you look so happy and rested?" They say to me.

Well, thanks for asking. It's joy. It's peace. It's comfort.

I am not sure what the secret is. Actually, I think the secret is, that it is not a secret. I am not keeping anything secret. There is no special key to unlock the answers to love and happiness. I think once you realize that, you stop looking for the secret answers to life's ridiculously ludicrous and thought consuming questions. And, once you have stopped looking for these secret answers you can actually spend more time realizing the present. Instead of investigating the past and the future. Just lie back and soak.

I am not perfect. I will still question. But, please don't let my questions blind you and make you not realize the present state in which I dwell and/or float.

If you are still here. I am not ashamed. If you are still here. I have said anything and everything I would and would not say to you or away from you.

If you are still here. I thank you. If you are still here. I dwell with fulfillment. Float with excitement and swim with grace.

If you are here tomorrow. I may not have the same thing to say. But, it doesn't not change the state in which I dwell.

Sometimes swimming, sometimes floating, sometimes treading, sometimes wading, sometimes waiting.....never sinking.

Going with the flow.

My pool of thoughts.

This Moment

I can't decide whether to keep going, hold my breath, lash out, dive in, or any of the other metaphors you can think of when developing a relationship with someone.

I can't find descriptors that suit the lips or the eyes. Green, beautiful, full, tender. These words don't seem to stand up to what I feel or witness. These words seem lacking in luster or strength. They don't seem to be heavy enough for anyone to feel the weight of the world that lives beneath the ever changing sparkle of green and hazel that swims with in his stare. These words don't seem to savor the succulent savviness or sarcastic perversions that fall from such ripe lips.

I wished I could tell you about the hands. The hands I have yet to leave my tears in. The hands that hold, touch, and caress my thoughts. These hands that could hold my entire person if I asked them to. These hands that will explore my body only to expose my soul and wrap me up in my own spirit. These hands that have a sexy, smooth, masculine exterior with a sensitive, soft spoken inner life.

Then there is the laughter. The stifled boyish chuckle that begins and ends as a giggle. There is also the smells and the texture of the skin. Both so clean and worth burying your nose in.

If only I could comprehend my own fears and where they have come from. Just when I think I have a full view of myself and my world. The enormity of my reality hovers above causing my fleeting moment of joyous exuberance to shutter to the thoughts of sadness and solitude. Only to shift once more to horny-ed excitement and fluttering eagerness.

It has been slow, steady, and sufficient to this point. I can't predict, no, I won't predict the outcome. I will only say it has been worth it. Sometime, hopefully in the very distant future, I will come back to this post and remember that no matter what the outcome, I was plenty full of happiness. My satisfaction was running over.

Sugary-Sweet Gestures

I was running around prepping the space with crumpled papers and keys a jingle. Up two flights of stairs then down three. "Put those over there and hand me that! Where is he? What time is it? Hello, can I help you?"

I saw him. He must be the model. He was late. Somebody told me the model had a arrived and was wearing a polo shirt. He was wearing a polo shirt and definitely could pass for a model. Besides, he was also walking around alone as if he was looking for someone.

With assumptions and authority raging, I grabbed him by the arm and began leading him to the changing station while mumbling something about how long he would have to be here and whether or not the company that sent him had explained all that was needed to explain. He stopped me by placing his free hand over mine which was holding his arm at the wrist. I felt something and everything came to a halt. I stopped dead in my tracks, looked him in the eye and saw such sweetness. In an instant I knew I had the wrong person. We shook hands. I apologized by tripping over my words that needed altered and brushing myself off with smiles and batted lashes. His eyes were deep and living in a warm soul, as if his tears may be made of simple syrup. He looked at me with a sense of understanding and intrigue. He was flattered to be presumed a model. He was intrigued to know (quickly) who I was. He most certainly looked at me with desiring eyes and inquiring minds. For lack of a better statement, there was a "moment" between us. It was clear. If not to him, well, then to me. But, in truth, I think it would have been clear to anyone standing in on this first exchange. If we had been a cartoon on Sesame Street little thought bubbles with hearts and music notes would have appeared above our heads. After collecting names and a few other quick facts, I marched away hoping I looked dashing, smart, authoritative and put together in the 8 paces I had left in his view. Hoping by pace 5, 6, 7 and 8 he might have smiled that unnoticeable smile that only his closest friends could have seen through his eyes.

I grabbed a business card, scribbled my personal phone number on the back and placed it in the back left of my Lucky's. How apropos!

I then proceeded to maintain visibility in his sight lines roughly every 8-10 minutes. I felt this was enough time to appear busy enough to continue passing by and short enough intervals for him to also think, perhaps, I wanted him to see me. Also, I just didn't want him to forget about me. He didn't. He too maintained a position among his crew that allowed small intense bolts of eye contact.

I think there might have been an exchange when he left. Something along the lines of saying each other's names before saying good-bye. Kinda pointed at each other with toy guns--"Clem!?" He was right. "James!?" I shot back. But, the timing wasn't right to hand over my lucky card. Alas, maybe next time. He did say there would be a next time.

Over the course of the next month or so, there was a next time and a next time and a next time. After visit two and three, I still had not handed off my doodled business card that I had been carrying around with me since our first meeting. There had, however, been the eye contact each visit, smaller talk grew bigger, and the guns came out each time we said each other's names. I think there even may have been a hug or half hug or maybe just that "awkward one arm slightly around the waist thing." But, by the fourth next time, he was only with one person. I knew this person. It made it so much easier for both of us. We now shared something or someone rather. It instantly pulled us closer together in a safe and trusting way. I made him laugh, he asked lots of questions, and it was easy. It was fun. It was clear. I learned about his quest to keep parents and children interested in sugary, sweet morning cereals. He was torn. He made a great living marketing and advertising the profound chocolatey-ness of Cocoa Pebbles but was fully aware he played a role in child obesity. I explained my waving craving of sugar cereals. I talked about how Cocoa Pebbles and Lucky Charms are my favorite cereals to indulge my craving with. I actually had just finished a box of Cocoa Pebbles days before this conversation. When the other person turned away for something, I reached into my wallet and pulled out the crumpled and faded business card with my number on it.

He didn't take it. He had circumstances. I respected that. He would have been too tempted. He didn't want to lead me on or himself for that matter. But, it didn't change us. We still smiled, laughed, gave piercing glances during pass-bys, and the like.

The next Next Time came a few weeks later. My office speaker phone screamed feedback as a co-worker explained that a person by the name of James needed to speak with me. On my way up the first staircase, I hoped it wasn't a complaint. On my way up the second staircase, I hoped it would be quick and easy. I was looking down at my feet as I was trotting up the stairs and suddenly someone grabbed me by the wrist. I felt something and everything halted. I stopped dead in my tracks and looked him in the eye and saw such sweetness. The simple syrup his large eyes swam in sparkled, like moonshine was in perfect alignment with his iris. We hugged as if we were very close friends from college or as if we hadn't seen each other in months. It had really only been a couple of weeks. We stopped traffic on the staircase. I feel like saying he was beaming, but that might be too presumptuous. Or, I might be projecting. :-)
He said he had something for me. (what could he possibly have for me?)
Then he lifted his left arm up and in his hand was a large 13oz. box of Cocoa Pebbles. "Tastes More Chocolatey" was printed largely on the box. I was dumbfounded. Not only was this a very thoughtful gesture, but it was charming, silly, flattering, romantic, crazy, specific, and it's importance in my life in that moment swelled to epic proportions. It was this kind of joy and kindness that was missing in my life.

No, his "circumstances" hadn't changed. No he had not intended to use chocolate as a wooing tactic. No, this didn't mean sex would come soon. But, it did mean he thought of me. He thought of me very specifically. He thought of me and followed through with this gesture. He thought of me, followed through with this silly, sweet, chocolatey gesture, and never needed anything in return, besides maybe to see the look on my face.

I hugged him again and maybe even again. It might have been awkward. I can't remember. I remember blushing, beaming, giggling. I whispered in his ear..."you aren't allowed to do this." But, I didn't mean it. What I meant between those words was..."you (mister smart and funny man) aren't (are charming) allowed (and I respect you) to do (and your pride and your willingness and eagerness) this (to present such a gift with little to no expectations).

Needless to say, I brought the Cocoa Pebbles home after two days of it prominently displayed on my desk, got into my P.J.'s and have never enjoyed a bowl of sugary, sweet nothingness more.

And, I am writing a letter to the company to congratulate them on excellent one on one customer service and that, indeed, these Cocoa Pebbles taste more Chocolatey than ever!

Someday He'll Come Along...

Things I would say to him, and him and him and him. All the one hour dates, flirts, chance meetings that keep me hibernating in front of my fan and next to my books and magazines. Surrounded by empty bottles of vitamin water.

Don't put your thumb and forefinger above my hipbones searching for cum gutters.

Don't ask me where I bought my V-Neck and then roll my sleeves down or pull the V up toward my neck.

Don't stop me on the street in the pouring rain to explain why you haven't called in weeks. I didn't even like you that much. I only liked that you liked me. Or so I thought.

You are not allowed to reject me. YOU pursued ME, remember?

Stop quizzing me about my waist size and then lifting your shirt to reveal an 8 pack. (p.s. when did it go from a 6 pack to an 8 pack. Jesus Christ!)

I don't want to see you walking home from the gym. But, more than that, I don't want you to tell me your gym schedule or how many hours you spend there, or what you worked on today.

ARRRGGGHHH!

Sleeveless shirts are for pubs or parks not wine bars and intimate dinners. Plus, you are an adult now...aren't you?

What makes you think it is okay to squeeze my thigh underneath the table and chuckle when I don't flex my thigh bicep? We only knew each other for a total of 52 minutes.

Stop talking about the last guy you dated. You hardly knew each other. You act like he is an ex-boyfriend. This should be eye opening for me.

Why would you proceed to compliment me on my shape only to say that if I worked out more religiously I would be "really hot." Thanks for basically saying I am lukewarm.

Come up with something better than I need to walk my dog. Not too quick are we?

STOP COMING INTO MY PLACE OF WORK AND ACTING LIKE WE NEVER KISSED OR YOU HAVEN'T CALLED, THEN PROCEED TO "MAKE OUT" WITH A DIFFERENT BOY THAN ME. ONE THAT JUST HAPPENS TO BE SOMEONE I ONCE MADE OUT WITH.

I know we all like to look. But, learn how to tilt your head with some sense of subtlety. Sneak a peak when I am slicing into my fillet. Not when I am telling you about my scar on my forehead.

And please, please, please NEVER EVER give me a ride home and proceed to rub your crotch and make whimpering moan-like sounds and say "you're gonna leave me like this?" And point to your crotch.

Oh, and that bite you drunkenly tried to rip off of my shoulder looked like a F'in hickey I had to explain away in yoga class to my fellow yogis. Thanks you big ass drunk!

Waiting

"have you ever had someone hold you for 20 minutes straight and want nothing more than to hold you. they don't try to pull away, they don't try to look at you, they don't try to kiss you. they just hold you in the most unselfish way?"

from the Movie Waitress

Fuck

CHASERS, I think they are called.


Guys, usually young gay men, who are chasing the virus. They want to be infected. It's their generation's version of suicide.


"Nobody pays attention to us, nobody love us, nobody notices us. Well now I have HIV."

Silence.


But some hear a type of applause in their warped minds giving a round of...


What about the one's who don't chase the virus, but they chase the act of transmitting it? The one's who will meet someone on the subway, at a dog park, online and go home and fuck. Not suck. Fuck. They will text the first fuck buddy that comes up on their phonebook and alphabetically go down the list until someone will come over and fuck them.


Is sex that good? Is sex that worth it? Is sex with someone you don't know easier than I assume it to be? Am I really such an inexperienced clod that I can not bring myself to have sex in the bushes, or intercourse on the first date, let alone after a ten minute encounter over the last few sips of a Stella.


Intercourse with a complete stranger. Intimacy and nudity with another man who shares your desires. Undressing, lubing up, forced kissing chemistry, lazy foreplay, bad breath, condoms (or not), ass, cock, saliva, cologne, sweat, shit, cum.

My cock burns at the sound of it. And, in the past, my cock has burned after less than the above mentioned have been exchanged.

I know we are supposed to love ourselves and give ourselves up to the moment. I know as a gay community we are more sexually free. That's supposedly a badge of honor.

I feel like I have a huge scarlet letter. Not sure if it's a P for Prude or a V for Virgin or a PS for Plain Stupid.

I know I am a blocked person sexually. I know I have leaps and bounds to make in my lifetime. I just don't plan or hope to make them with hundreds of people. I prefer to keep it in the dozens. If I being generous.

Choking Back

There are so many excuses for my behavior.

This was my first relationship.

I was highly insecure.

I was terribly jealous.

I was deeply in love.

I was 21 years old.



So, then, why? Why every time we see each other, do I get this dizzy stomach and nauseous headache? It's fleeting for the most part. But, it comes every time I see you. I look at you now, and the way we are as friends and feel so blessed. I see how much we have grown as people, as men, as lovers. 8 years and counting. But, I can't seem to shake this one instance. This disgusting display of immaturity and drama.



I wasn't a perfect boyfriend. I still doubt I ever could be. I was jealous and insecure and full of fear. I never felt you would love me for me. I don't think either of us realized it was okay to be ourselves with each other. So instead we tried so hard to be what we thought the other wanted.
And, boy did we love each other. WE LOVED. AND LOVED. AND LOVED.

I am not saying I live with regret from that moment in time. That moment in 1999 where I disappeared from the music store (in hopes that you would chase me down...argh...games!) and walked my sorry ass back to Jersey City where I proceeded to sit on the stoop of our brownstone wiping violently at my tears and peering down Mercer Street with tainted anticipation just waiting and waiting and waiting for you and her to come down the street. And...you didn't. Hours and hours went by. Not a phone call. Nothing.

I didn't get what I wanted. Even after a tireless, immature, ridiculous effort to manipulate it out of you. I didn't get what I wanted. But, I also couldn't see that what I had was enough. I wasn't taking what I was given I was only managing to see what I wasn't.

I don't regret my behavior. I had to go through that to learn about myself. It's an unfortunate circumstance that brings the chuck up to the back of my throat every time I think about it, but I had to go through that.

But, you asked me if I had any regrets, or rather, anything I would go back and change. That would be it. Even if I had left the music store out of jealousy and an immature display of loyalty. I never would have confronted you in front of her. I would have, hopefully, walked my sorry ass back to Mercer street and had sometime to think about not feeling sorry for myself. Then maybe when you both arrived back at the house, I would have stood up on the stoop and said I was sorry. Sorry for my childish behavior. Sorry I was pouting and needy for your attentions. Please forgive me. Please understand I am (was) so young and in the great unknown of relationships.

Unicorns and Libras

The balloon he twisted and shaped into and Odie-look-a-like was charming and playful. He handed it to me with my name on the collar. How youthful. He encouraged my own balloon making and creativity and stood behind me with his arms and hands serving as instructors.

The photos of his nieces and nephews plastered all over his mantle and bed stand show is devotion and loyalty. He speaks of his brother and his sister almost every time we talk.

His apartment is wall-papered with books. As well as his nightstand and desk. Moby Dick is his current literary endeavor. This after completing the Harry Potter Series for the second time in anticipation of the 7th installment.

His glasses are EMO with out being pretentious. His jeans are frayed from use not from dollars. His T-Shirt falls on him so comfortably, as if his chest hair is the grass underneath a picnic blanket.

His conversation is always full-bodied, intense with out being overwhelming, intellectual with out being arrogant, academic with out being droning, and passionate without being aggressive.

His friendships are strong, committed and full of effortless efforts.

His talents are art and photography as well as working with children.

He takes yoga because he likes what the teacher says in class not because he wants a six pack or gain access to his toes. He reads up on Buddhism, homeopathic medicines, spirituality and doesn't commit to any one fully.

He orders pasta with no reservation.

He has braved the city for over 10 years. He has stared familiar death in the face more than once. He has had his heartbroken and performed the breaking himself.

He enjoys the cocktails but doesn't smoke. He has no addictions or fearful habits that are not under control.

He listens to The Weepies and The Gossip.

He writes in a journal. He attends the theatre. He travels.

He does things like...lifting his and my shirts up to expose our chests while lying in bed for the first time and presses our torsos together. Skin to Skin. Holding me tight and nibbling my ear he says things like..."this feels so nice. Doesn't it?"

It does.

But, this is all I see of him. Now. At least. He is a Unicorn.

I am a Libra. There is a balancing act. And, this unicorn impression I am getting is exactly why one day before my date with the Unicorn, I will meet up with the Jew who lives in Brooklyn but wishes for the LES, only wears skinny Diesel jeans, carries a huge purse, has no ambitions, holds on to his heritage because he likes Shabbat dinners, smokes, sleeps in, has nothing hanging on his walls, won't accompany me to the theatre, and leaves everyone thinking he is a huge Bitch and we will get drunk and have sex.

This will be less than 24 hours before I nervously and excitedly meet up with the unicorn and ultimately not put out.

And, I will never understand this about myself.

Up with People

I mean he is really cute. But, so is his boyfriend and so is the guy across from us at the table. So is the singer they all came to see. So is the entire staff of my employees who schlep the drinks to the table.

So, why did this happen to me? Tonight? I feel like a 12 year old boy. All, pitched tents and camp sleeping bags. You show me yours and I'll show you mine.

I am his friend. He is mine. I love his boyfriend. We are friends. I have never made an advance on him nor him on me.

But, tonight, I sat there next to him and he put his hand on my thigh. "Oh my..." As he began to caress it,(non-sexually) I began to grow and swell with excitement and desire. At first, I thought it could be ignored and it would dissipate. But, as he continued the friendly fondling with no expectations on his end, my manhood stood up for itself. I began to fear being discovered not only by my friend's hand, but by the surrounding customers. Or, better yet, by my staff. Because, of course, right now would be the exact time a dire emergency would require my attention. While I was standing at attention.

Wet puppies. Baseball. Newborn babies. RATS. Anything to discourage my hormones. But, no such luck. The libido speaks louder than the words in my mind.

I began to sweat. I could feel the lights searching for my shiny skin as the beads of sweat created a new texture to my face. Do I tell him to stop and embarrass him and me? Do I make a joke like I am being aroused but pretend I am actually not? That would probably force me to get up...from the table that is. And, the truth is, I can't. (I should have never bought these jeans in a 30)

So, I act fast. I grab his hand. I pat it the way a mother would when she's telling her son/daughter it will all be okay. I plaster a huge toothy grin on my face and say, "You can't do that right now. " (insert a tiny forced hee-hee) I continue, "Just stop...and don't ask, and turn away because I getting up (argh!) to leave now."

As I did rise (oy!) to leave the table, I caught him catch a glimpse. He wanted to know if he really had done this thing to me. He had. I wanted to go pat him on the back, because that looked like what he wanted. He looked so proud of his achievement. Instead, I shamefully hustled to the nearest employees only and burst into laughter that steadily became tears.

Is that chemistry? Or was I just extra-extra horny? Or is it both? Or could it have been anyone in that moment, if they touched me just right?

Who knew one of my G spots was the inside of my right thigh through a too-tight pair of Lucky Jeans.

Pet Shop Boy

I have spent the past 8 months in a haze. A foggy version of myself either simply going through the motions or standing motionless. In the scattered and tattered moments of bliss I do have the pleasure of experiencing, I have either been removed from my current state by way of alcohol or sex or I have been performing.

This haze has made me "unrecognizable" to some. But, mostly it's just made me fade into the background of life.

It began by me trying to move on from the last relationship only to realize I had begun the process over and over again feeling unsatisfied with the tactic at hand each trial.

It spiraled by me trying to get over the "getting over" phase of the "end of the affair", as I now dub it.

It blinded me when karma left the building only to leave me with pesty reminders and audible drips that could only be remedied by professionals.

I am coming out of the dark as Ms. Estefan tried to sing to us. In this light I have made unbearable realizations about myself and other's. I have become bitter and jaded when I always remained the realist with a deep sense of hope buried inside. I have transformed from a trusting all-American boy to a cynical, plotting lil' bitch. All the while wishing and hoping for someone to take me seriously.

I am beginning to realize why you didn't call back. Or why you didn't enjoy my body. Or why after two dates, or one sleepless sleepover, or drunken bed tumbling, or nicotine kisses, or intoxicating promises that you will never find comfort in my soul as a home.

I am just a lonely boy on display inside this pet shop we call community. I can look so cute and cuddly and you will come inside and ask to hold me, and touch me, and tease me and play me. Then you will think hard for only two minutes about the responsibility I will become, the nuisance I could be, the dependence I am already demonstrating and you will drop me back into my shredded newspaper box having satisfied your urges only to leave me longing for more.

Why is this so much easier for you?

The pet shop boys sing What Have I...What Have I...What Have I Done to Deserve This.